Dog Diaries #13 Read online

  DOG DIARIES

  #1: GINGER

  A puppy-mill survivor in search of a furever family

  #2: BUDDY

  The first Seeing Eye guide dog

  #3: BARRY

  Legendary rescue dog of the Great Saint Bernard Hospice

  #4: TOGO

  Unsung hero of the 1925 Nome Serum Run

  #5: DASH

  One of two dogs to travel to the New World aboard the Mayflower

  #6: SWEETIE

  George Washington’s “perfect” foxhound

  #7: STUBBY

  One of the greatest dogs in military history

  #8: FALA

  “Assistant” to President Franklin Delano Roosevelt

  #9: SPARKY

  Fire dog veteran of the Great Chicago Fire

  #10: ROLF

  A tripod therapy dog

  #11: TINY TIM

  Canine companion to Charles Dickens, author of A Christmas Carol

  #12: SUSAN

  Matriarch of Queen Elizabeth II’s corgi dynasty

  #13: FIDO

  Beloved family pet of Abraham Lincoln

  The author and editor would like to thank James M. Cornelius, PhD, curator, Lincoln Collection, Abraham Lincoln Presidential Library and Museum, Springfield, Illinois, for his assistance in the preparation of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. All incidents and dialogue, and all characters with the exception of some well-known historical and public figures, are a product of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Where real-life historical or public figures appear, the situations, incidents, and dialogues concerning those persons are fictional and are not intended to depict actual events or to change the fictional nature of the work. In all other respects, any resemblance to persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

  Text copyright © 2018 by Kate Klimo

  Cover art and interior illustrations copyright © 2018 by Tim Jessell

  Photographs courtesy of Prints & Photographs Division, Library of Congress, this page, this page, this page, this page, this page; Abraham Lincoln Presidential Library & Museum, this page (top and bottom).

  All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Random House Children’s Books, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York.

  Random House and the colophon are registered trademarks of Penguin Random House LLC.

  Visit us on the Web! rhcbooks.com

  Educators and librarians, for a variety of teaching tools, visit us at RHTeachersLibrarians.com

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Names: Klimo, Kate, author. | Jessell, Tim, illustrator.

  Title: Fido / by Kate Klimo ; illustrated by Tim Jessell.

  Description: First edition. | New York : Random House, 2018. | Series: Dog diaries | Audience: Age: 7–10.

  Identifiers: LCCN 2017030222 (print) | LCCN 2017032926 (ebook) | ISBN 978-1-5247-1967-8 (trade) | ISBN 978-1-5247-1968-5 (lib. bdg.) | ISBN 978-1-5247-1969-2 (ebook)

  Subjects: LCSH: Lincoln, Abraham, 1809–1865—Juvenile literature. | Fido (Dog), 1855–1866—Juvenile literature. | Presidents’ pets—United States—History—19th century—Juvenile literature. | Dogs—United States—Biography—Juvenile literature. | Human-animal relationships—United States—History—19th century—Juvenile literature.

  Classification: LCC E457.25 (ebook) | LCC E457.25 .K55 2018 (print) | DDC 973.7092—dc23

  Ebook ISBN 9781524719692

  Random House Children’s Books supports the First Amendment and celebrates the right to read.

  v5.4

  a

  For Cody, one magnificent mutt

  —K.K.

  For dogs, who are as truthful as Honest Abe

  —T.J.

  Contents

  Cover

  Other Titles

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter 1: A Little Yaller Pup

  Chapter 2: Old Bob & Co.

  Chapter 3: Gone Fishin’

  Chapter 4: A House Divided

  Chapter 5: Billy the Barber

  Chapter 6: Vote for Old Abe!

  Chapter 7: Mischief Artists

  Chapter 8: One Hundred Guns

  Chapter 9: Farewell

  Chapter 10: The Last Parade

  Appendix

  Abraham Lincoln in 1857, immediately before his Senate nomination

  Abraham Lincoln was my man and I was his dog. That’s the long and short of it. Lincoln had lots of dogs. This ain’t about them. This is about me, Fido. I like to think I was his favorite. The Lincoln Dog, they called me in my heyday. But before I met him, I waren’t nothing but a tramp, living on the streets.

  Fact is, me and Lincoln looked alike. We were, the both of us, raw-boned and big-eared and, if I do say so myself, homely as the day is long.

  The morning we met, I’d been trussed up tight in a burlap sack, captured by a gang of ne’er-do-well boys. I didn’t know what they had in mind for me. But I can tell you right now, it waren’t good. I could tell by the sound of their wicked laughter. Low-down and mean it was.

  I’d no one to blame but myself. They’d lured me into an alleyway with the promise of bacon. I should’ve known better. My mother would have told me, Son, when you see a band of idle boys coming at you, run in t’other direction. But Ma was gone, squashed flatter than a johnnycake by a lumber wagon. Before I could get me my taste of bacon,

  those bad boys had me in a feed sack with the string drawed up tight, quicker than greased lightning.

  Let me go! I barked till my jaws ached.

  Suddenly, I heard a voice. It was high and twangy, like a country banjo. “What are you boys proposing to do with that there wriggling sack?”

  The boys knocked off laughing. I heard them shuffle and mumble. “Bringin’ home a rooster for Ma’s cook pot,” one of them said.

  “Is that a fact?” said the man. “Rare rooster you’ve got there that barks like a dog.”

  “Boys,” I heard one of them whispering to another, “we’re in hot water now.”

  The man went on. “Don’t you young ’uns know that all life is sacred? An ant’s life is as sweet to it as ours is to us. How would you like it if somebody stuffed you in a sack?”

  “I reckon we’d hate it, sir,” one of the boys said.

  “Then you’d best drop that sack and be off. And the next time I catch you red-handed, I’ll tell your folks. And if they don’t tan your hide, I will. Hear me?”

  “Yes, sir, mister!” And they dropped me.

  Next thing I knew, the man was laying open the sack. He squatted on his heels and stared down at me. I was shivering so bad I thought my teeth would crack. In my brief life on earth, humans had done precious little to win my trust. I looked in this one’s eyes. They were pale as a rainy day. He smelled of timber, woodsmoke, river, milk, barn, and what else? I took a deeper whiff. Sadness! He smelled like a man weighed down by a great sadness.

  I leapt into his lap. Propping my paws on his chest, I wagged my bushy tail. Cheer up!

  Some dogs might have been afeared of his looks. His face was long and narrow, with sunken cheeks. His hat was tall and dusty. But that smile? It lit up his face like a lantern in the wilderness.

  “I’ve found me a little yaller pup, looks like!” he declared, scratching my back. “A good little dog, too, I can tell.”

  Even a tramp like me knew that word. Good. But was I anything like good? I knew I wanted to be. Ma always told me to be. Bu
t she also said there waren’t nothing like a man to bring out the best in a dog. Was this the man for me?

  I licked his face until he laughed so hard he fell over backward. “I know some fine young lads who will be pleased to meet you.”

  He climbed to his feet and wrapped me in the old shawl from around his neck. It smelled of man sweat and hair oil. Down the street he strode on legs so long I got dizzy when I looked down.

  We passed a lady coming t’other way. The man tipped his tall hat. “Good day, Mrs. Melvin.”

  The lady stopped and grinned. “Well, now, I see you’ve rescued another of God’s creatures.”

  “Now, Mother Melvin, you know I can’t help myself.”

  The lady shook her head fondly. “Aren’t you the one who ruined a brand-new suit wading into the mud to save a pig in distress?”

  “I do confess I’m partial to pigs, ma’am. My favorite pet as a child was a pig. But I favor little yaller dogs, too.”

  “I wonder what your Mary will have to say about that,” Mother Melvin said. “Cats she’ll tolerate. But everyone knows the little woman is afeared of dogs. I daresay she’ll be fit to be tied.”

  “Over a little yaller pup?” He looked down on me, his eyes twinkling. “What say you, Fido?”

  I wagged and panted. Fido? Who’s that?

  “That’s your new name. Fido. From the Latin fidelis, meaning ‘faithful.’ You’ve got the makings of a faithful dog. A proper Lincoln family dog.”

  We soon came to a wooden house on a corner behind a fence. He opened the front gate and bellowed, “Boys! Come see what I’ve brought you!”

  I peered out between the shawl’s folds. Three young ’uns came spilling out the front door. They were like stairsteps, each one taller than the next. The tallest looked like he was waiting for something to come along and impress him. And clearly, I wasn’t it. He stayed in the doorway while the other two pelted down the walk.

  “What have you got there, Father?” asked the middle-size one.

  “A dog, Willie,” said Lincoln. “His name is Fido.” He set me down gently and pulled aside the shawl.

  The boy whooped with joy. “Can I hold him?”

  “Gently, Willie, gently. He’s had a hard day.”

  He held me in his arms and stroked me. I smelled chalk, hickory, rubber. He was a dream of a boy, chock-full of pure joy and mischief.

  “Oooh, Taddy!” he said to the littlest one. “Come pet the puppy dog. He has a nice rough coat and a waggly tail.”

  The littlest one toddled over and stuck his face close to me. I licked it. Maple syrup, smoked hog belly! He sputtered and giggled and called out to his biggest brother, “Bobby, get a doggie kiss!”

  But the big boy lingered in the doorway. “I don’t care for doggie kisses, Taddy.”

  “Now, boys, you know Bob is a mite shy of dogs,” said Lincoln.

  “Bobby got dog bit,” said Tad, nodding fiercely.

  “And Father had to take him to Terre Haute to get treated by the mad stone,” Willie said.

  Tad squinted. “Mad th-tone?” His words came out all twisty.

  “You remember what a mad stone is, Taddy. It’s the hair ball of a deer,” Bob said from the doorway. “Supposed to draw out the poison of the dog bite. Mother thinks dogs are dirty and dangerous. She won’t like one in the house. Not one bit.”

  “I guess we’ll just have to see. Shall we?” Lincoln lifted me from Willie’s arms. He carried me up the front walk and through the door.

  Like most tramps, I’d never been inside a house. How’d it feel? Safe, like nothing bad could ever happen inside these walls. It smelled like roasted meat, lemon oil, flowers. Just as I was thinking I’d passed through the gates of Dog Heaven, a shrill scream tore the air.

  “TAKE THAT MANGY CUR OUTSIDE!”

  She stood at the foot of the stairs. Short and stout, in a big hoop skirt, the missus was as different from her mister as night was from day. He was long and skinny and cool. She was small and round and hotter than blazes. I smelled fire, brimstone, bitter medicine. I burrowed down into the shawl.

  “Abraham Lincoln! How dare you bring that creature into my house! He’ll get mud all over.”

  The two littlest boys clung to their father’s coat and began to weep and wail.

  “Now, now, Mother,” said Lincoln.

  She crossed her arms and made her face hard.

  In a gentler tone, the man said, “My dear wife, as you can plainly see, the boys have already taken a shine to him.”

  She scowled, but I could see her face softening.

  “Please, my dearest Mary?” Lincoln coaxed.

  She sighed. “Well, if you insist on keeping him, take him out to the barn with the others.” Then she clutched her head. “I feel a headache coming on. Mr. Lincoln, fetch me a cool cloth.”

  Lincoln handed me off to Willie. “Outside.”

  “Don’t mind her,” Willie whispered to me as he carried me out the back door. “She’s excitable.”

  He set me down near a big old friendly-looking barn. Willie began to toss a ball into the air. I followed it with my eyes. “Chase the ball, Fido!” he said. Then he threw it.

  “Chathe it! Chathe it!” Tad lisped.

  I stared back at them in puzzlement. Was this ball thing meant for me? I ran and fell on it.

  The boys cheered.

  Tramps don’t know the first thing about balls. I gave it a whiff. It smelled mighty tasty, like the hands of boys who ate with their fingers. I hunkered down in the grass and commenced to eat it.

  “Don’t chew it, Fido. Fetch!” Willie scolded.

  I looked up. Willie was giving me such an eager look, I forgot all about the ball. Running at him, I pounced, my paws on his knees. He leaned down, and I licked his face. I knew, then and there, that I would always love this perfect boy.

  Willie laughed and and whispered into my fur, “You were supposed to bring the ball with you, silly dog.”

  We fell over into the grass. Tad piled on. Like three pups, we rolled and tussled. Delicious smells began to beckon from the house. Was this my life from here on in? If so, I was one lucky tramp!

  Soon, a ringing bell called an end to our fun. The boys leapt up. Tad toddled off toward the door.

  Willie got a rope and gently tied one end around my neck. He tied the other end to a tree. “We’ll be back out before you know it, Fido.”

  My heart sank like a stone. I watched the boys disappear into the house. When I started to follow, the rope tightened around my neck. Choking, I sank to my haunches. Darkness was falling. That barn didn’t look so friendly anymore. I heard scratching inside. Maybe there was a big old bobcat hiding in there. Ma had warned me about them.

  Fido, old feller, stand your ground. I sprang to my feet. The fur along my spine stood up. My lips curled into a snarl. I’d show that bobcat that fresh Fido was not the meal for him.

  Suddenly, I heard another scratch. I yelped and leapt into the air. There followed a squeaking noise, and that’s when I saw something wriggle out of a crack in the barn. It waren’t no bobcat at all.

  It waren’t nothing but a dad-blamed, ornery, whippy-tailed gray rat.

  I woke with a start in the dark. The wind had picked up, and my nose twitched. Then I felt Lincoln’s big, rough hands gently unfastening the rope from around my neck. I wagged my tail.

  You came back!

  So had his two sons. They stood behind their pa, shifting from foot to foot, all teary-eyed.

  “Now, see here.” Lincoln spoke sternly to his boys. “I don’t want to see this dog tied up ever again. Is that understood?”

  “Yes, Father,” said Willie. “We were afraid he would run away.”

  Tad began to sob. “Taddy love Fido doggie!”

  “That’s no way to show your love. Better he should run away than
strangle himself.” He dropped to his knees, eye level with them. “We mustn’t ever be cruel to Fido. Nor should he be treated as a prisoner. Now, give him his dinner and bed him down in the barn. He’ll be safe there.”

  “Yes, Father,” said Willie. “We’re sorry, Fido.”

  The boys ran off and came back with a big bowl. They set it down before me. It was the kind I’d seen in the laps of womenfolk stringing peas for supper. I poked my nose into it. No peas in this one. It was brimming with delicious meaty scraps!

  I wagged my tail and looked up at the boys.

  “Go ahead, Fido,” said Willie.

  “For you, doggie,” said Taddy.

  This bowl of deliciousness was mine? I dived in and ate it all up. When I had licked away every last drop of goodness, Willie picked me up and carried me into the barn.

  Now, hold on just a dad-burned minute, I growled when I saw we were headed for the barn!

  Inside, he set down another bowl, this one filled with water. Giving me a quick hug, the boy went away and shut me in!

  Didn’t they know about the bobcats? I ran to the door and threw myself at it, yelping, Come back! I don’t want to be in here.

  I settled down enough to sniff the measure of the place. Was that horse I smelled? Then I heard a voice from out of the darkness say, Calm yourself, son. We’re all friends here.

  I peered into the gloom and saw a big brown horse in a nearby stall.

  Welcome, stranger, he said in a slow horsey way. The name’s Robin, but Lincoln calls me Old Bob. And you are…?

  Fido, I said. Lincoln says I’ve got the makings of a faithful dog. A proper Lincoln family dog.

  Well, lardy-dardy for you, said a second voice. A lean tabby cat slid out from the shadows. Behind her I saw the glowing eyes of two or three other cats following her. She sat down and began to lick her paw. The others did the same.

  Just so you know, Mr. Fido, said the tabby, Abe prefers cats to dogs. Ask anyone. The man can’t see a cat without stroking it. When he finds a stray cat on the street, he brings it here to the barn to shelter. But I’m the only cat she lets into the house. She hates dogs. HATES them! Says you’re dirty and dangerous.